Payback
by thisismyGuiltyPleasure
Summary: Eric and Pam have reconciled, and Eric's got a plan for his revenge on Sookie . . . After Season 4.  I heard a few positives and I had another idea, so here's "Chapter 2", as it were . . . Have a look and tell me what you think!
1. Of Broken Things Mended

Eric stood on the low platform on which rested his dark leather throne, surveying the opening of his bar. It had been a long time since he'd been in this good of a mood. Breathing deeply the smell of blood and sex that always lingered here in the air, he approvingly watched Ginger lean over one of the tables to wipe it down. Night was just beginning to fall outside, and within a few hours the bar would be full of fang bangers, vamps, and a little something extra . . . He smirked with wolfish pleasure at the idea he'd cooked up for the Bon Temps telepath that had stomped so thoroughly all over his pride. And his heart, some small part of his brain supplied out of nowhere. Eric frowned, trying to quash the thought.

"I know you like it here, but some of us want to get this freak show on the road," a dangerously monotone female intoned from behind Eric's left shoulder. He smiled slightly, not bothering to turn and look at her.

"In a few minutes, Pam," he said. "We're waiting on the new girl."

The past few nights had not been good to Pam. Eric's hare-brained idea had been pure exultation to enact, but she had found that it was harder than she'd thought to get the proper equipment prepared and installed in the timeframe he'd given her. "Please remind me why I'm setting up a new novelty stage in the back room, before I take my broken nail out on you," she threatened in the same deadpan voice, examining said nail with disdain.

"That sounded remarkably like a threat, Pam," Eric said, in a tone much like hers. "But I know better. My progeny would never be so audacious."

Pam looked up from the eye-searingly pink wreckage on the end of her finger. "What's got you in a mood?" When Eric made no reply, she ventured further intrepidly. "Not getting enough alone time with Sookie and her precious little-"

"Don't, Pam-"

"-fairy vagina?" Pam finished, undaunted. She would not be intimidated. Her agreement had been to tolerate Sookie, not speak charitably of her, and Pam was not the type to lie down and submit when challenged. Even if the one she was pitted against happened to be the beloved Maker she had just gotten back after a long separation neither of them had enjoyed.

Eric sighed heavily, rubbing a hand through his hair. While the bar scene merely worked for Pam, Eric thrived here, or really anywhere where the point was mindless sex and instant gratification, she thought snidely, but not without affection. He wore sex god look well, and the fact that the title actually fit certainly helped. He would have everyone swooning tonight, with his hair slicked back and his pants practically painted on. Yes, she thought with satisfaction bordering on adoration, her Maker was as close to his element here as he could be without traveling back to the North Sea. Still, he was troubled.

"-don't think that's really necessary, do you?" Eric was saying as Pam's mind returned to their conversation.

"Yes, of course, blah blah blah," she said off-handedly, going back to examining her nail.

"You weren't listening to me, were you?"

Pam shrugged, still attempting to remedy the huge crack that had sliced down into her nail bed.

Eric's tone changed as he observed her. "Does that hurt?"

Another shrug. "About as much as it would if I stepped on your toe in these shoes," she said wryly, indicating her wicked 5-inch heels.

Eric chuckled darkly as he gently took her hand to examine the damage for himself. His brow wrinkled as he puzzled over such a classically female problem. "How is this typically fixed?"

"With a salon," Pam replied pointedly, hoping he wasn't getting any ideas, like ripping her nail off, for example.

"Shouldn't you try to cut it or something?" Eric said, continuing to eyeball the crack like he could come up with some radical new solution if he stared at it long enough.

"Not if I want to save the manicure," Pam stated matter-of-factly. Eric looked up from her hand in consternation. "You're looking at $200 worth of work, Eric. It's staying on."

Eric cocked an eyebrow, but let her hand go. "Suit yourself. Where is that damned telepath?"


	2. Conflicting Emotions

Eric felt her anger long before she actually entered the bar. It was a dark, heavy thing, sitting like a rock on his chest. If he needed to breathe, it would have suffocated him. Regardless, he painted on a smile of sadistic enjoyment as he lowered himself onto his throne, stretching out his long legs while watching the door through the writhing bodies of the dancers, professional and amateur. She would be here any minute; her shift was about to begin.

The closer she came, the more the rock seemed to fester and become a black hole within him. As Eric remembered from a few brief experiences with emotions, these were typically of the sort that was directed inward. He wondered briefly if perhaps he was confusing his own feelings with hers . . . No, he couldn't afford to be thinking that way right now. Any doubt in his mind could be felt through the blood bond, which he was sure she would pay special attention to tonight. If there was a shot at manipulating him, he felt sure she would take it rather than follow through with what he had in store for her. He had to be prepared. There could be no distractions-

"Eric!"

He jumped, realizing Pam had been standing in front of him for he didn't know how long. "Yes, what?" he said, waving a hand dismissively at her.

"Oh, you have _got_ to be kidding me," Pam said, hands on hips. When Eric didn't reply, she leaned forward slightly, prompting him with eyebrows raised. "You told me to come to you?"

She looks especially kick-ass tonight, Eric noted briefly before turning his eyes back to the door. Pam usually wore more spikes and leather than your average KISS member (Eric had no idea why he knew that), but tonight she had pulled out all the stops. Her heels were platform. Her rings could be classified as deadly weapons. He was pretty sure the vial that hung on a chain around her neck contained blood. And despite all that, she was still pink enough to be the undead, tasteful version of Lady Gaga. (He _really_ didn't know where that came from. Maybe one of those shows that Pam made him watch with her. Something about fashion week?)

"-you can't be this distracted all because of that stupid little fairy-"

"Pam!" he interrupted her in the middle of the angry spiel she'd launched into when, once again, he'd completely forgotten her presence.

"What?" she shot back, at the same volume, crossing her arms now. He wished she'd keep it down. People were starting to stare. Well, more than they usually did.

"When she arrives-"

"Fuck no-"

"-you will escort her to her position and get her set up. Understood?"

Pam leered at him for a moment before stalking away to man her place at the door again. Eric decided, for the sake of her sanity, to take that as an affirmative. He returned to watching the door, waiting for her to walk in, his little telepath, fearfully eying his patrons as she made her way to him . . .

"She's thirty minutes late."

Pam heaved a sigh, resisting the urge to hang up the fancy pink phone that had been part of her I'm-sorry-I-said-I-would-kill-you present. Well, Eric hadn't exactly called it that, but she knew that's what it had been. And who could complain when your Maker offers to send you on a shopping trip to Paris and replace half of your belongings?

"She probably had car trouble or something. Poor thing," Pam couldn't help but add, with a smile that was all fang.

Eric was at her side almost instantly, leaving a path of carelessly strewn club-goers in his wake. "She could be in danger! That stupid little car of hers probably died on the side of the road, and it's already so damn late . . ."

"I resent that."

Eric and Pam both turned on their heels in an identical pivot, freezing mid-conversation to see the only living person who would dare make such a statement. She could have giggled at their surprise, had she not been so gosh-darned angry with both of them. Sookie took the last step up into the bar and peered around Eric's shoulder, even as he tried to get his mouth closed and back into that enigmatic smile he'd been working on since he started this place. "Havin' a little trouble with your dancers?" she asked innocently, observing the column of people still sprawled on the floor where Eric had knocked them in his haste.

Without another word, she blew past them both airily, making her way toward the empty stage at the back. Eric completed his 180 turn, watching her blond curls bounce through the sea of pale skin and leather on the dance floor. Pam watched him with a knowing smirk.

"Shall we get to the part where you take advantage of her doe-eyed fear . . . ?"

"Shut up, Pam," Eric hissed vehemently before hurrying after Sookie. Laughing just loud enough for him to hear, Pam turned back to the door.

"We don't serve minors here."


End file.
